The Big Orange

Greater Los Angeles (the Big Orange): Disneyland, the Queen Mary,  Hollywood and the Rose Parade.  We are right there now, ready to share all of the celebrity and excitement, the good life,  with 17.8 million other Angelenos.  According to Wikipedia, there are 7876 people per square mile (0.014 per cubic inch) in the City of Angels. Each citizen, or illegal immigrant, has at least two cars, one of which, the one they drive to work, has failed a recent mandatory smog check. The atmosphere in the L.A. basin is a semi-solid compound composed of sunshine and the three C’s (equal parts carbon monoxide, carbon dioxide and cannabis) which is being held over the city and its 72 suburbs by prevailing on-shore winds from the beautiful Pacific Ocean to the west and trapped by the beautiful-if-you-could-see-’em San Gabriel Mountains 100 miles to the east.

My office is on the 7th floor of a bank overlooking Interstate 5 in the City of Commerce.  But we won’t be living in the City of Commerce, or the City of Industry, nor Azuza, Cucamonga, Yucaipa, or Beverly Hills.  We either can’t afford these places or they are undesirable neighborhoods of social unrest: gangs, murder, riots, arson, Republicans. So house number eight will be in Riverside, a 50 mile commute on the Pomona Freeway. And what is exceptional about Riverside?  Nothing. Nada. Its only claim to fame is the parent navel orange tree.  This is the tree from which all other navel oranges have descended.  How about that!  As time wore on, and friends and relatives caught up to where we were living and came to visit, we proudly drove them to the little garden in downtown Riverside surrounded by a chain link  fence with a plaque reading: Parent Navel Orange Tree.  Impressive.

Gasoline and money are in short supply throughout the country as we make an offer on an older home with a swimming pool at 4553 Rosewood. (Movie actor Jack Lemmon’s uncle lives three doors down!) Unlike World War II, gasoline isn’t rationed, there just isn’t much available.  In order to make my 50 mile commute, I must first wait in line to buy gas if and when the stations have it available. Money is in equally short supply, causing its cost to rise to “way up there.”  The prime rate is 19%.  That’s the rate charged businesses which have impeccable credit ratings.  Others (Joe Six-pack) pay more. So we felt fortunate when our real estate offer on this house reads something like:

1- Buyer to make $25,000 cash down payment

2- Buyer to assume existing first mortgage of approximately $13,000 at 6.5% with

payments of $160 including taxes and insurance

3-Balance of $53,000 to be carried by seller at 12% with payments of $400 for one year,

then increasing to $600 for four additional years, all due and payable at the end of five

years.

Ya gotta give those realtors an A in creativity.

The pool was lovely, dark and deep.  When one has a pool, one has an increase in friends and neighbors who offer to drop by with towels and suntan lotion, hinting at availability for dinner.

One day I happened to be home, out by the pool, when I noticed that the sky was dark, on a cloudless day!  Big flakes of ash were falling onto the sidewalk, the lawn and into the pool.  San Bernardino, one city over, was on fire. In California, when the prevailing wind reverses direction and stops blowing in from the ocean, strong hot winds known as Santa Anas roar over the mountains from the desert.  It is during these times that campers leave their fires smoldering, and arsonists stock up on gasoline and matches.  This one turned out to be the Panorama Fire which eventually destroyed 380 homes in just a few hours. The roof or siding on these houses didn’t just catch fire. The air, being pushed by 50 mph desiccating winds and superheated to 800 degrees by the flames, caused houses over which it passed to literally explode. At least the winds blew the smog away.

But, we soon grew restless, as is the custom of nomads. The real estate market was a mess, we really didn’t like Riverside, and I was pretty tired of the commute. So we put the house up for sale, thinking that it would take months to sell.  Nope. Two weeks later I called my boss and told him I had accidently sold my house. And pretty soon we heard the pshhh pshhh of the air brakes on the Allied Van Lines truck. Back to Gold Country.